The Death of Voldy
by StopAndSmellTheFlowers
Summary: In which Voldemort gets beaten up by various people. Not as good as my other story, for sure, but vengeful thoughts on Voldy.


**A/N: I wanted to try something new, and the idea for this came out of a review in my other story, so here goes!**

**Disclaimer: I'm thirteen. It is 2010. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone came out in 1997. Therefore, if I were to be JKR, I'd have written the book **_**and**_** gotten it published by the time I was one year old, and everyone would be much more exited about JKR than they already are. Thank you.**

Voldemort looked up. This was an interesting room, no doubt, but how a mere muggle girl had gotten him into it against his will was beyond his knowledge. It was, to be frank, rather embarrassing. The meddlesome muggle stood up, twirling a yew, 13.5 inch, phoenix-feather-core wand. His wand. How had she—no. No time for questions. He might as well grab it and kill her. "Give me my wand or perish, insignificant girl!" he said, cold voice echoing about the room. It was sparsely furnished, with but one door and a chair.

The girl stood up, unperturbed. Perhaps she was hard of hearing. Evidently she knew more than he thought, however, because she spoke.

"Hello, Tom," she said brightly. Voldemort's red eyes gleamed, but she paid no attention. "You may refer to me as Flower. You're here because I hate you. Why, then, would I have you in my sight? Because I hate you. So I took your wand, brought you here, saved a few muggles' lives in the process, and now you're going to get beaten up. I do know a few things about you, though. You like killing, you hate Harry Potter, you're scared of Dumbledore, you were named after you muggle father, Tom Riddle, with your middle name being Marvolo, after your grandfather—" Voldemort jumped up and ran toward the girl, ready to ambush her. Unblinkingly, almost bored, she snapped her fingers. Voldemort was trapped back onto the chair, bound by some sort of shiny silver cloth. Flower shook her head.

"Oh no, you don't," she said as if speaking to a toddler, "That there is called duct tape. It's rather useful." She had duct tape put over his mouth, and then ripped off. It stung horribly, the pain sinking deep. Was this the muggle form of the Cruciatus Curse? These muggles were evil, really.

Some sort of giant barrier appeared near the back of the room. The muggle put his wand behind it and headed back to him. She let him up. Voldemort was sure that this girl had no idea what he could do even without a wand, but for now he waited for the opportune moment to attack.

Flower seemed to notice his actions and rolled her eyes. "There's only a few rules in this place," she said, "and they're pretty simple. No automatic deaths, nothing incredibly gruesome, and no magic for Voldemort. I and others can use it, but not you."

Voldemort fumed. Who was this—this _child _to tell him what to do? How dare she. He willed himself to fly, to show her who was in charge, but nothing happened. Unless this was a magical room—no, it couldn't be; he'd been looking for one of these for _ages_, and now, when he's in one, it's used to torture him. Great.

Flower grinned. This was going to be totally awesome. She watched as Voldemort twisted up his face; trying to do wandless magic, no doubt. It wouldn't work, as she'd told him. She prepared for her path of destruction. Rules explained? Check. Room big enough? Check. Banana peels in place? Check. Scared Voldemort? Probably check. Creepy background music? Double check. Great.

She first took off the duct tape. Voldemort, having never actually had to fight someone without a wand, was backing away almost subconsciously. Flower grinned and advanced. She feinted a punch, kicking him in the… well… yeah…. He howled and fell to the floor, curled in the fetal position.

"That was for Lily and James!"

She chucked a banana at his ugly face, saying, "And that was for Fred Weasley!"

She had a twenty-pound anvil dropped on his feet. "For Remus and Nympha—I mean, Tonks!"

Voldemort struggled to his feet. She snapped her fingers and his skin was suddenly bright hot pink. He caught sight of his hands, examined them, and turned to a suddenly smiling Flower. He positively glared at her. She smiled as he didn't watch where he was going and slipped on a banana peel. The names continued.

"For Dobby!"

"For Hedwig!"

"Rufus Scrimgeour, even though I hated him!"

"Colin Creevy!"

"Mad-Eye Moody!"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom!"

"FOR DUMBLEDORE!"

By now Voldemort's pink hue had turned blue, purple, black, and a sort of deep puce. His head popped out from under all the dung he'd been buried in.

"_What_ did I do to deserve _that_?"

Flower rolled her eyes. The last few paragraphs were all about what he'd done for that! "For killing all those people and for being a meanie meanie butt-face and for being _evil_ and for making _horrible _things that no-one should even know how to make because they're so _horrible_!"

Flower took pictures of him and set him back to normal. He was glaring at her, struggling to get up, but he was stuck to the chair with that horrid _duct tape _of which the muggle was so fond.

"And this is only the first chapter," she told him. He shuddered.


End file.
